


The Walk Home

by ottersandhedgehogs



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sherlolly - Freeform, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottersandhedgehogs/pseuds/ottersandhedgehogs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper, the pathologist of St. Barts has had a terrible day, only to be faced with an idiotic and frustrating Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Short little Sherlolly fic I'd been wanting to write up for a while. Cute, fluffy, Sherlock ends up being a bit rude.

The minute hand on the old worn clock hanging on the green painted wall of the morgue was slow. Slow to the point Molly Hooper nearly felt like time came to a stand still. The mousy brunette pathologist was standing around in the main room with the cooler for the corpses she had to process. Her yellow pencil flicked around back and forth between her fingers and a look was in her eyes as if she was lost in thought.

Work was done for the day yet her shift wasn't over yet. Thirty minutes. Tick. Tick. Tick. The red second hand's sound seemed to pound in Molly's ears. Sighing slightly she made her way back to her office, only to plop down in her chair only to lazily work on paperwork. 

Why was time always slow. Never ending when all she wanted to do was go back to her flat and relax. It was a funny thing, time. Always ongoing and never ceasing. Even after death it continued on. Molly knew death to much. It was her job after all. Caretaker of the dead. The pathologist. The odd girl that worked and talked to those that were no more. 

Finally her time came. Time to go. It had been a long busy day filled with several post-mortems and in fact she pulled a double. Fueled with coffee Molly merely couldn't keep up with what she was supposed to do. The caffeine effects wearing off, and quickly. So when Sherlock Holmes bumped into her on her way out, her eyes rolled and a heavy sigh escaped her. 

"Molly." The smooth voice of the detective uttered while pulling his scarf off from around his neck. 

"I'm on my way out." She told him, looking nervous. If there was something she knew he positively hated it was when he wanted to experiment and she wasn't there.

Sherlock's piercing blue eyes ran up and down Molly's features. Tousled hair, frayed at the edges, most likely from twirling it out of boredom. Small flecks of blood on her lab coat, opening a chest cavity obviously and she missed the small spots while cleaning herself. Next her face. Bags under her eyes, smeared eye makeup. Clear signs she'd been rubbing at them. Double shift. 

"I'll be silent. Try not to make a mess." He smiled and walked past her while removing his coat. "Do cover up. It's going to rain." Was all he murmured before heading through the doors to the lab.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rude detective and a sad pathologist.

Rain? Molly vocally groaned and dug around in her bag, aiming for her wallet. Missing. Crap. Now she'd be forced to walk home. No money for a cab and no pass for the tube. As if being verbally abused by a DS from the Yard earlier in the day wasn’t bad enough to make her hopes sink, Molly’s heart nearly sank down into the floor. Out of her body and down fast her feet, the floor and buried deep down below in the earth, still pumping away.

It was at least a good half hour walk home to her flat if she kept up a good pace. The poor girl had tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, yet she sniffed them back and wiped her face. Maybe Sherlock could lend her some money for a cab. Hopefully at least.

With her light jacket pulled tightly over her cherry jumper the saddened woman walked into the lab quiet as a church mouse. Sherlock Holmes was sitting in his normal spot. Back straight and shoulders pulled back as his eyes were fixed on the microscope before him. “Yes Molly what is it? And don’t be boring.” He could sense her presence there without needing to look up. The door did squeak a bit after all, hardly something the detective would miss.

Molly stood before him, wringing her hands and nervously smiling. “I um…” She started off quietly. “I’ve forgotten my wallet.”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled over to Molly his eyebrows raising slightly. “This is my problem how exactly?” A slight twinge of irritation pulled up on his face for just a moment. She was interrupting his work.

“C-Could I borrow a few pounds for a cab? Or the tube. You said it was going to rain. I’d um… I’d have to walk.” The poor girl bit down on her lower lip, trying to refrain from crying in front of him from pure frustration.

Sherlock sighed and shifted back upon the stool to place his eyes back to the lenses of the microscope. “John has my wallet. I’ve not asked for it back. Better hurry before the rain begins.” Was all he uttered sharply.

Shattered. That was exactly how Molly Hooper felt. Lovely. Bad day, now I’ve to walk home and get rained on. Not saying a word in response the brunette merely nodded and turned to be on her way out.

Already there was a chill in the air as Molly stepped up to the door to leave St. Bart’s Hospital. A gust of cold air delved into her jacket causing her to shiver greatly. Wonderful. While shoving her hands into her jacket pockets Molly stepped out into the gloomy London weather only to begin her long and arduous walk hom **e.**


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game is on.

Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. The minutes on the clock ticked and ticked away. He was missing something again wasn’t he? Sherlock inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling in one grand gesture that seemed to strain the buttons of his purple shirt.

The rain had already begun. Tapping gently at the glass of the windows enough to bring Sherlock’s mind to the most recent events. Molly. Rain. Walking. No cab fare. The sudden realisation made Sherlock Holmes drop what he was doing. _Of course!_ He very nearly could have smacked himself upside the head. Frustrated by his own blindness to the entire picture.

His eyes closed, picturing Molly just there as she was not twenty minutes ago asking if he had a few quid for a cab. Oh how could he be so stupid. Stupid and rude. It was quite evident that she wore a look of despair on her face. Mouth drawn down in a sad almost hurtful manner. Obviously someone had yelled at her earlier. The tears he could now picture in his mind brimming around her reddened eyes.

_Oh you idiot!_ If he couldn’t assist her on her way home, the least he could do is make sure she would get there safely. So with his experiment abandoned, Sherlock pulled his thick black coat back on, his iconic scarf and headed out of Bart’s to hunt the woman down.

Molly was actually crying softly to herself as she walked. Her bag tucked safely under her arm and her arms were pressed hard against her sides while her hands remained fists inside of her pockets. The rain was just mist at the moment, dusting over her jacket and moistening her frizzy hair. It’d been sometime since she’d left Bart’s, stopping occasionally to duck into a shop to warm herself up. The cold was turning the tips of her ears red, her nose was sniffling and pink. It would have been lovely to be in the warmth of a cab. Even a warmer coat would have sufficed. It was nice out when she had gone to work. So that morning when she headed out, insisiting upon walking, little did she think the weather would turn against her and little did she think to actually check the contents of her bag for that stupid wallet.

The cash she had jingling around the bottom of her bag was used to buy her lunch in the canteen. When she had dug it out was when she should have noticed the missing wallet. Afterall it was her job to notice things. Poor girl could look a corpse over for roughly five minutes and come up with some sort of suspicion about what was wrong, but couldn’t for the life of her notice the contents of her own belongings. _Well, we all do silly things_. She thought to herself while stepping into a nearby bookshop to get out of the rain.

It was coming down heavier now. Large droplets forming puddles on the pavement and streets, causing Sherlock’s trouser cuffs to splash with water, the material soaking it up as he darted through the streets, weaving in and out of groups of people carrying umbrellas, talking on phones, not paying attention where they were headed, knocking into him, knocking into each other with dirty looks and mumbled _‘Sorry’s’_ The whole while he scanned the crowds. Mind working in the direction most convenient for Molly to take home. She couldn’t have gone far really. The light fabric of her jacket would cause her to freeze up, get the chills, stop into places looking like she would buy something just so she would warm again, move her hands freely without a grimace. Holmes knew the pathologist well. Did he not spend hours upon hours surrounded in her company? And now he felt like a tit for shoving her out.  Now to figure out where on Earth she was hiding.


	4. Part Four

Thunder cracked overhead followed quite quickly by a lightning strike. The sound of it all echoed throughout the small and quiet book shop, giving Molly quite the start. The book she was over looking at the moment fell down to the dusty tiles. One hand, the left fluttered up to her chest to feel the heart pounding away inside of it. The right one cupped over her mouth, smearing her light pink lipstick into her palm. Molly needed to get home before the storm got any worse. Before the rain came down so hard she wouldn’t be able to see in front of her. Before various onlookers in shops and cabs stared at her, feeling sorry for the lone girl walking in the rain. Before whispers carried throughout all of London about the girl in the rain, stories starting.

With a heavy sigh she managed to pick the copy of _Grey’s Anatomy_ up from the dirty tiles with a trembling hand. It was soon back in its spot on the shelf amongst the other books on human anatomy, physiology and even older out of date medical books. She found it all fascinating really. How everything was done in the early days of medicine. How corpses were sold on the black market by grave diggers to medical colleges. These thoughts stayed with her as she started out of the store, fingers toying with the ends of her hair while she wore a look on her face as if she wasn’t really there.

Sherlock was still dashing around, weaving in and out of people. Annoying. Stupid. Cheating on his wife. Burglering. His mind was racing, matching the pace of his feet. He had used his extensive knowledge of the streets of London to his advantage. Knowing precisely where Molly’s flat lay and where St. Bart’s was centrally located he was able to pin point the way she would be taking. As for the places she would have stopped into, she wouldn’t have lingered for too long. Just enough to make it look as if she was interested in buying something, make up her mind not to proceed with the purchase and leave, thanking the store associate.

Of course the detective was weaving around back alleys, taking shortcuts, figuring and calculating in his mind where exactly the pathologist could be at this moment. Luck. Pure and simple. As he came round a corner just having jumped over a bit of fencing he saw that plain brown ponytail. The jacket all drenched with the rain water. She had to be soaked to the bone at this point. After all the rain was getting heavier with each step Sherlock took it seemed.

With all of the people around them he was the only one who saw her. The only one who ever truly saw Molly Hooper. The only girl who works with the dead. He enjoyed her company immensely even if he didn’t show it. Even of all the rude comments he made to her. Commenting on her weight gain, the size of her breasts, her appearances. Only Sherlock noticed these things. No one else bothered. Must have been why she kept giving into him. Just to hear things being noticed about her. To know she was in fact noticed at all made her day half of the time.

With as quiet of footfalls the rain would allow Sherlock found her, staying behind her several paces as he tugged off his scarf, placing it between his teeth while undoing the buttons of his coat. He had to appear to anyone like a mad man. Well he was but that was a different story. At least the people who knew it was Sherlock, or knew him was quite aware he was mad. Freak he was called. Psychopath. No one understood how his mind worked. Constantly going and going. Cogs always whirring and buzzing around inside. Molly knew. Molly always knew. That’s why he knew she always gave him access to the lab, the morgue, put up with him.  Why it took him so damn long to realise just how much Molly Hooper meant to him was beyond him. Beyond words he couldn’t think of at the moment. But what he could do was apologise for his behaviour and hope to hell she would forgive him. In his mind he knew she deserved a better man, a _normal_ man, but Molly wouldn’t settle for anyone else and he knew this.

His arms had slipped from his coat and soon the gap between him and the pathologist was breached. He was just behind her but Molly didn’t realise it for one second. Still lost in her own fantasy world. Sherlock slung the coat around her shoulders, popping the collar up to cover her ears. Then with several short steps and coming around to face her he slipped his scarf around her neck. “There we are Miss Hooper. Can’t have you catching cold out here.”  His voice never faltered and came out smoothly while his features grew up into a grin. Happy with what he’d done.

 


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the positive feedback. It's greatly appreciated and I adore you all!

_What the hell?_ The oddest sensation came over Molly once she felt the thick black coat around her. What sort of odd person came up to wrap their coat around a complete stranger. Especially when it was raining so hard outside. Looking down, her soft brown eyes took in the coat. The smell of it hitting her nostrils before she realised it was in fact the one and only Sherlock Holmes's.

She wanted to shout at him. To scream. To pound his chest with the cold clammy fists she had. Why on Earth would he follow her this entire time and just now offer her his jacket? But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. For once in his life, once in their life they had shared together in some sort of sense Sherlock was actually being kind to her.

The coat was warm. Barely even wet. Clearly it hit her that he’d just started to track her down. He always did miss something after all. And Molly’s despair must have been enough to bring him out of his daze and realised what he had done.

Shuffling the coat ever tighter around her body, Molly wiped a bit of wet hair from her forehead. “Thanks Sherlock.” Was all she could manage to mumble out at him. She was very grateful for this gesture.

“Well, I couldn’t have my pathologist catching pneumonia. Though if you would have died I would have studied your lungs.” Awkward. Sherlock didn’t know how to really speak to her properly. _Best keep it to a minimum then._  

With her brows knitted and her hands firmly inside the coat pockets she stared up at him. “But what about you? You’re shirt is soaking already.” It’s true that it was. The rain was coming down both sideways and straight down. Soaking them both. Sherlock’s shirt was drenched already but he waved her off.

“No matter Molly. Let’s get you home safely, and quickly.” There was no other thought in his mind. He’d always been her protector even if he didn’t voice it. Even if he never told her so. Sherlock would always be there for her. Hiding in the shadows making sure she was safe. Always. Even if it would put himself in danger instead. He would never let anything come to harm her. If she didn’t know it. Maybe he should tell her. Maybe he should tell her how much she means to him. _Not yet._

Molly had no time to respond. Sherlock’s hand was in hers, not cupping it like school children on the playground but properly holding it. Fingers laced together and holding on tight. Never letting go. He never wanted to let go. He wanted, no needed to apologise for everything. Everything he ever said. Everything he ever did. Every action he ever made that was in any way unkind. Because Molly Hooper was always always there for Sherlock Holmes and he was the world’s biggest idiot for not noticing that.


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the beginning.

It didn’t take the pair of them to reach her flat after that. Sherlock knew his way around London so well. They weaved in and out of gardens, alleyways, over fences, Molly with a bit of Sherlock’s help. Never did they once let their hands leave the others.

It warmed them both. Regardless of the rain. Regardless of how soaked to the bone and positively freezing Sherlock looked, defrocked. No coat. No scarf. They were all on Molly’s small frame. Keeping her warm. Keeping her safe. He didn’t care he was soaked all the way to the skin. He didn’t care if he’d catch a cold. What he cared about was Molly. Miss Molly Hooper and her well being.  She had no one. She needed looked after. She needed Sherlock Holmes to rescue her. Which of course he did. Which he had finally decided he would always do. Sherlock Holmes would protect Molly Hooper at all costs. At any cost. Even if it meant his whole life she would always be safe and sound.

With his larger hand squeezing her smaller one, they came upon the door to her ground level flat. Nothing but a large smile was on his face. _Why was he smiling?_  Molly wondered to herself. He never smiled. Only if he was trying to intimidate someone, trying to get his way into places, being excited about cases.

As the two of them stood over the canopy in front of of Molly’s door, Sherlock looked down at her. “What? What is it?” She questioned, brow knitted slightly. Thoroughly she was confused at what his intent was. But she would soon find out.  There were hardly any dry patches to his clothing. The coat of his warmed Molly for the rest of the walk. Making her clothing drier, damp still but not as before. Without a word he gestured to the door, wanting her to open it.

Those big brown eyes of her went from his frame to the door. “Oh right yes sorry! You must be freezing. Come in. I’ll make some tea.”

“None for me thanks.

“Coffee at least? Something warm. I-you don’t-- oh never mind.” The key slid into the door knob perfectly and with a slight twist of the knob the door creaked open and Molly entered to find a very disgruntled Toby waiting for her, meowing loudly for food.

Sherlock of course was right behind her, shutting the door. Molly was beginning to take his coat off when his hand snatched her by the wrist, pulling her close so they were chest to chest, nose to forehead. The hot breath of her lungs felt soothing on his skin. Warmth. That is what Molly provided him. And, could it be? _Love? Yes, yes that’s what this is. Love_.  With a hand snaking around her petit waist, Sherlock used his other hand, two fingers under her chin as he pulled her face up to his.

Confusion was evident on her face. Slight frown lines. A lost expression in her eyes. Heart racing. And then it happened. Sherlock Holme moved closer, his nose brushing across her cheek until his lips met hers in a gentle kiss. Just barely, just enough to speak against her ruby red lips. “Molly Hooper, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry I never showed you. I thought it would protect you. But I can’t….I can’t keep it to myself any longer. Seeing you everyday makes my heart ache for more.”

With a deep breath, eyes closing, hands resting against the wetness of his shirt Molly spoke as quiet as a church mouse. “It’s always been you. I’ve always loved you. Always. Always.” There was a slight smile on her face as she tip toed up to kiss his full lips again.

That night, Sherlock shed everything. HIs heart, His soul. His mind. He shared it all


End file.
